Politician! What politician?
Feminist! Which feminist?
A hero grandfather! Whose hero?

If I were her highness, the queen of the public domain, I would feel completely content, happy and extremely flattered, and why not? So many really elegant pens, gifted writers and decent compatriots have written essays while having a thought of me in their minds, I would think with a glee! Why? Al Nahda column to be written, while the writer, the one who writes those easy-to-comprehend-difficult-to-clone essays, had me in his mind while writing it.  That excellent chronicler, Zekere Lebona, too, had me in his mind while writing his piece; it all makes the head spin!

I could name a dozen other names, and if I were her Excellency, the self-crowned queen of the public domain, the austere politician, the feminist, the almost-grand-daughter of Zera’í Derres, all these would make me a creature tightly filled with ecstasy and perhaps transcend into a Nirvana of sorts.  Alas, I can’t feel all that, I am not her! In fact I don’t know if she felt that way or even felt any other way for that matter. What I have is what she wrote, and when one writes, one, if not crafty, inadvertently, spills a great deal of his soul in what he writes, and to good noses, it will not be only reading, but more of sniffing and recognizing the stink all over the script. Unfortunate is such a writer: unfortunate, because people will come and see through his words into his real naked self.

If an orator takes the podium and starts his discourse by impressing on his audience the brag of his status as the crowned-king of the public domain as much as that of his (perceived) status as the grand son of Napoleon Bonaparte’s barber; and then goes on reciting, though in nebulous terms or even no terms, his heroic adventures for the cause of women and the emancipation of women, in a country where emancipation for Homo Sapiens in general, is an idea of taboo and a blasphemy paid-for-by-life; and then tops all that by telling his audience that he is an austere politician, in a country which, every soul in the planet knows, that there is only one and single politician in that country, the orator excluded; then what is one supposed to think about such person?   

What would you think about this virtual orator?  I don’t know about you, but my understanding and my assessment would be that a deception is being attempted here, and I will perceive that the orator is in fact selling his own person.  And I would also conclude that the salesman has very little or none to show for his merchandise’s promise; and I will know, too, that’s why he tries to associate himself with perceptions and ideas of greatness to blind his audience with borrowed glare from his perceived great. I will also understand that this orator is not much of a thinker because he has exposed, naively, his narcissistic self in a state of stark nakedness. Naïve and narcissistic, a disastrous combination!

All the above talk was about a virtual orator, an assumed one! Now what would you think about a real world orator, a person of flesh and blood, one who believes, not unlike his virtual peer, that, by the mere coincidence of having the honor of being almost a grand son of Menelik, he has a divine right to rule Somalia? And should I remind you that in cases of such clarity of objectives one needs neither further questioning of reason nor demand respect of common sense! In this respect the famous Melekin was craftier and superior to the queen of the public domain now, in: that he chose, as his source for his credibility and the bedrock of his arguments, deity itself, a source very hard to prove or disprove. Didn’t he claim to be a prophet!

Unlike him, the queen of the public domain, chose to rest her credibility on the heat that may be generated from mentioning an irrelevant name to Eritrea; Zera’í Derres, a remote name to the Eritrean Struggle, and in fact as irrelevant a name as that of Asfaha Woldemikael. You see the logic now! A logic which is no-logic, one which could at best be recognized as a self-defeating logic. What the queen says, in fact, can’t even rank to the name calling urchins are used to exploit, for the sake of uproar-creation and in the clamor and confusion, steal whatever lies within the grasp of their spider-like, tiny limbs. There is, in fact, no rational context which qualifies this type of logic or the ability of its user to become friendly to truth.

That is why, then, that this essay was written, to wonder at the ease with which any irrational exhibitionist can take the time and resources from where it should belongs to re-directed it to the service of his own narcissistic project.

How was it possible that the almost-granddaughter, with all the lack of the smartness she shows in her essays, achieved her objective and stole the lime light she yearned and begged for by no less than invoking her almost-grandfather’s name? She talked nonsense and was qualified for all the responses of the writers and respected compatriots. That is more than she ever dreamt of! If there is a reply to her, it is not at all intellectual; her essay disqualifies and forfeits her from that realm. The only response is litigation at the court of law, and here it only depends on Saleh Gadi’s wisdom.  

There is one point I would like to make. Well, it is not a point, it is only that I would like to thank her highness for her kind correction of a mistake I held for so long: ignorant me! I used to believe that Zera’í Derres was an Ethiopian hero, but again it was her kindness which made it clear to me and to those, who, like me, were so ignorant about this radiant fact: now, I know that he was an Eritrean hero and not an Ethiopian, and that fills me with pride.  Not because I don’t believe that Eritreans and Ethiopians may have common heroes, but it is more of  living up to the PFDJ adage of “ DEY NATNA AYNDELLIN NATNA  DMMA  AYNGEDIFIN.” 

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Saleh (Johar) Gadi, a man who introduced serious journalism to the Eritrean scene; the man who pioneered and single-handedly smashed the tyrant’s monopoly of information dissemination--that Saleh Johar (Gadi), needs niether apology nor defense. For what are few meaningless words written in Dehai’s spirit by an urchin, if compared to the creation and maintenance of a great edifice such as Awate.com?